


daddy issues

by MissDinahDarling



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Confessions, Cute Ending, Established Relationship, Father Figures, Flirty Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jealousy, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Romantic Comedy, Secrets, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:30:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23041360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDinahDarling/pseuds/MissDinahDarling
Summary: as a bard, jaskier is well-versed in the art of keeping secrets and concealing truths behind pretty lies, but this?this is, ah... a bitdifferent.truly, how the fuck is jaskier supposed to tell geralt he's slept with his father?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jasker | Dandelion & Vesemir
Comments: 36
Kudos: 979
Collections: Finished Fics I Love, Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	daddy issues

“tell me about how witchers are made,” jaskier asks lightly.

he’s draped across geralt in their tent, toying with the medallion which lies on the witcher’s chest. his darling is softly docile, a tamed wolf after a night of passion - it makes the bard feel brave enough to inquire into geralt’s past.

there must be a blessing upon him, as geralt merely hums, combs a hand through soft tawny hair, and indulgingly answers his question,

“it’s not a kind procedure,” geralt sighs, his eyes solemn as he traces jaskier’s pretty, flushed face, “it separates the strong from the weak, builds soldiers out of tears and blood and death. the mutations tear you apart, reduce you to a mere husk and leave you on the brink of death. there were many children who prayed for a swift end whilst enduring the process of becoming the men they are today–”

“ _geralt_ ,” jaskier murmurs, a soft, broken utter which captures geralt’s heart, “my poor darling, i pray you never feel such desolation again - goodness, it breaks my heart to even imagine the pain you must’ve suffered. all those poor children and… you were one of them.” and he presses a kiss to the brow of his witcher’s head, before he brushes his lips across his nose, cheeks and jaw - he hopes his love sinks in deep and sutures the wounds of the past.

geralt hums, allows himself to soak up the free affection as he idly scratches at the back of jaskier’s head.

“it wasn’t so bad,” he lies with a shrug, “i had my brothers - without them, i fear i would have lost my mind.”

“ooh,” jaskier croons, his eyes lighting up, “ _brothers_ \- tell me, did you get up to any sordid naughtiness? oh, you _must_ have - growing up practically submerged amongst strong, strapping creatures?”

geralt arches a brow and sharply tugs at jaskier’s hair - a silent admonishment.

“they’re my _brothers_ ,” the witcher says pointedly, “behave.”

“never,” jaskier grins, before he nuzzles into geralt’s throat and nips at his pulse teasingly, “tell me more about your handsome family whom i have not yet been acquainted with - which is most unfair, by the way.”

geralt snorts softly and rolls his eyes, runs a hand up jaskier’s spine as he purrs when the bard sucks lightly at his throat.

“i truly fear the day you come across the wolves of kaer morhen,” geralt notes idly, “if you promise to conduct yourself accordingly, then i _may_ consider allowing you to travel with me when i return for winter.”

“and _then_ i can meet your brothers?” jaskier asks, a touch eager, his eyes bright.

“you are not doing yourself any favours,” geralt responds wryly, before his eyes drift away, a small smile on his face, “i must admit, i _have_ missed kaer morhen - my brothers kept me sane, but. it was my father who really kept us all… feeling like we were more than mutants and monsters.”

“oh?” jaskier utters with a keen grin, but settles down at geralt’s warning glance.

“he trained us to fence,” geralt continues, oddly open and agreeable for once, “he was gruff and firm… but he loved us and offered us kind words when the days grew particularly dark. he helped us find the strength to move forwards, to be more than survivors - to be fighters: _for a world who deems you unneeded, needs to be proven wrong_.”

“geralt,” jaskier murmurs, hushed and delicate, “i’m glad you had someone to shine a light in such dark times.”

“indeed,” the witcher agrees, “i don’t think i would have survived had it not been for vesemir.”

and then there’s a slight moment of silence,

and jaskier blinks,

and says, “ _vesemir_?” in a voice which is strangled and stunned.

“yes,” geralt answers, a small furrow appearing between his brows - he’s suspicious, but he shakes it off as a smile suddenly curls on his lips, a bright spark entering his eyes, “you know, perhaps i shall bring you to kaer morhen - it would be most interesting to see him encounter _you_.” and then he presses a kiss to jaskier’s temple.

it’s sweet,

but the moment is soured.

and the bard honestly hopes his panic doesn’t taint his scent, because–

“right,” he chokes out, “interesting.”

– _vesemir_?

oh.

 _fuck_.

* * *

he lies awake that night, staring at his witcher.

geralt is lovely at all times of the day, but under the shining stars and gleaming moon, as he finds peace in sleep… his darling witcher looks positively _otherworldly_. his hair glistens, his skin glows and jaskier wants to brush his lips over every inch,

but not to claim,

not for once.

fuck, he wants to apologise - he wants to beg and plead for his witcher’s forgiveness, but with action, with demonstration. because fuck, how can he muster the words to confess?

to look his witcher in the eye and tell him - _darling, i slept with your father._

* * *

he can’t.

so,

he doesn’t.

* * *

but then it begins to become a problem.

at night, when geralt hovers over him, jaskier sees silver-white hair and glowing eyes and recoils. for it is not his witcher who tries to coax pleasure from his body, but vesemir.

and so jaskier feigns exhaustion and begs off sex.

he refuses to reach bliss with another’s face in his mind.

* * *

it gets worse.

during the day, after successful performances, geralt will place a hand upon his shoulder and murmur praise into his ear upon finding that the bard has earned copious amounts of coin for their purse. it makes jaskier _yearn_ to keen and whine, makes him want to bare his throat for teeth to bite and claim.

but he has to quell such desires, for his witcher’s flattery is sweet and jaskier refuses to sully the moment with memories of another.

* * *

he’s haunted and tormented,

morning, noon and night.

he tries to hold his tongue, but his mind has other plans.

* * *

honestly, jaskier knows himself to be a _fool_ \- he had truly assumed he could keep his secret concealed, yet nothing stays really hidden with a _witcher_ as your companion.

as time goes on, jaskier’s panic grows more erratic - it has geralt gazing at him with quizzical concern, nostrils flaring and eyes glowing softly. his witcher begins to linger by his side before leaving to hunt, he offers him rides on roach and gives him extra furs at night. he’s being doted on, which is quaint and heart-warming, but the source causes jaskier to feel utterly rotten inside.

he’s _needlessly_ worrying geralt and that is most unforgivable.

so… he tries to tell him.

* * *

“my father never wished for me to become a bard,” jaskier says lightly - it’s an idle night, perfect for idle playing; his fingers nimble on the strings of his lute. geralt is busy building a fire, with roach tied up firmly nearby.

the witcher appears quite content and the setting seems _perfect_ for confessions,

and so,

“no?” geralt utters in a light scoff, before his flicks his gaze up at smiles softly at his bard, “i imagine most noblemen would not approve of their sons eking out a life dedicated to the arts.”

“my father barely approved of my life at all - he was a stern man, strict and,” jaskier falters and deflates - his memories of home are not fond, “ _strict_. i believe he spoke more with the strap than with his voice,” he sighs, shakes his head and remembers what he must do, “anyway, speaking of fathers! i just remembered that i–”

“jaskier,” geralt interjects with a heavy frown on his face. the fire is ablaze between them and the witcher moves, steady and quick, to settle by jaskier’s side, “please accept my forgiveness now, as i fear that an encounter between myself and your father will not end happily for him.”

“i…” jaskier trails off, his mind dizzyingly flush with an influx of emotions. his intended confession is lost amidst a sea of delight and desire, “ _o-oh_? darling, how dare you! it is far too early for such filthy talk!”

and geralt shoots him a wolfish grin,

and then the world falls away,

and vesemir doesn’t cross his mind _once_.

* * *

still, he tries.

“so, you’re a wolf?” jaskier says, tracing the animal on geralt’s medallion with curious fingers, “makes sense, i suppose.”

“better a wolf than a cat,” geralt snorts, shrugging the bard’s touch away with gentle hands, “now, quieten down - you demanded to accompany me, so be silent before you give away our position.”

which, well.

was a _tad_ dramatic to say - jaskier did not _demand_ , he merely requested. loudly and frequently, until his witcher’s protests were drowned out, leaving behind a single weary _yes_.

“i _am_ being quiet,” jaskier rolls his eyes, allowing himself to be pushed away, but refusing to let the conversation drop, “so… as a wolf, i assume you have a pack?”

“ _jaskier_ ,” geralt hisses, a warning and a threat tied up neatly together.

“well, naturally you _of course_ you have a pack,” jaskier continues with a slight dreamy sigh, “of _very_ handsome brothers. i suppose that makes your… _vesemir_? was it? the alpha?”

“wolves don’t have alphas,” geralt corrects, throwing him a cold glare, “now be silent.”

and jaskier falls silent.

for about seven seconds.

“you know, that name does ring a bell, i just can’t quite shake the feeling of where i remember it from,” he says, slow and musing, before he feigns a surprised expression, “oh! that’s right, i–”

and then he’s cut off by a very angry harpy swooping down on them, screeching with rage and terror - it’s the very same harpy that geralt had been tracking for near enough three hours and, well…

“dammit jaskier! next time you stay in the fucking tavern!” the witcher barks as he rolls out of the way of her sharp talons. jaskier simply shrieks and dives behind a tree to hide from the enraged creature.

perhaps he _had_ picked a most inopportune moment to confess…

* * *

he still _persists–_

* * *

“darling, i need to tell you something–”

“hey pretty thing, bet my cock can make you sing!”

“–oh, for fuck’s sake! _geralt_ , put that sword down!”

* * *

“i can taste your stress from here - tell me, what troubles you?”

“i… geralt, please forgive me, for i–”

“can you believe they let a mutant in here? how _revolting_!”

“–for i am about to lose us our room for the night.”

“no, julian! no killing people with your fucking lute!”

* * *

–he still _fails_.

* * *

and then one day, they venture into a tavern where the room is cheap and the ale is weak, but it’s a roof and it’s warmth and it’s better than nothing.

whilst geralt indulges himself with wine and food, jaskier tries his hand at earning some coin. the evening looks to be tame and pleasant - until a patron cheers him and promises him extra gold for fulfilling a request. it’s not unheard of and so jaskier inclines his head and inquires the name of the song.

“the old bear’s claw!” the patron states, his grin crooked and eager, “you sang it at this very tavern, five years past! come on, you weren’t always _his_ bard!” and then the patron throws a pointed look to the corner where geralt skulks and hides.

panic claws at jaskier’s throat, encases his heart in ice, but… but his gaze falls upon the hefty purse in the patron’s hand and feels himself being lured towards the siren song of money. he wets his lips, turns to where his witcher is sitting and furrows his brow.

geralt looks intrigued, his head tilted and his eyes thin with suspicion. and then, after a lifetime of tense silence - his witcher nods.

well.

he _does_ wish to confess - no time like the present, he supposes.

and so jaskier flexes his fingers, clears his throat and begins to carefully strum up a tune which he hasn’t heard in years,

* * *

_under starless voids you wander,_

_across lands - bleak and empty,_

_beware the old bear, they say_

_for his rage consumes plenty._

_he snaps with savage teeth,_

_you tremble when he growls,_

_beware the old bear, they say_

_for hearts shatter when he howls._

_you feel brave when you hunt,_

_armed with bravery not quite yours,_

_beware the old bear, they say_

_he ensnares with shining claws._

_his roars, they quell to rumbles,_

_as you place a taming hand,_

_upon an old bear’s soul, to find,_

_a love which has no end._

* * *

the song is unlike the ones he’s written for geralt.

it’s more… _personal_ , layered with meaning, with truths hidden behind pretty imagery. it had been written during a lulling moment, his body still tingling after vesemir had brought him a pleasure which lingered in his bones. the man had taught him so much about the art of intimacy, about how to use fingers and tongue to coax bliss from another’s body.

it had been a dizzying time in his life and,

all the memories had simply flooded his mind with every trilling word he had spoke.

and as his song comes to an end and a heavy purse is pushed into his hands, jaskier finds himself swallowing down the urge to weep with yearning. it’s not that he _loves_ or even particularly _misses_ vesemir - rather, he simply misses the bittersweet moments for what they were and what they represented in his life.

he manages to school his expression into one less suspicious by the time he sits back with geralt. he places the coin purse between them and offers his witcher a cheery smile, “my darling, i do believe we’ll be to afford _three_ meals tomorrow - suck luck!”

“indeed,” geralt states, before he takes a deliberate sip of wine, his eyes steady and glinting. jaskier swallows and snatches up a block of cheese from the witcher’s plate, suddenly feeling quite corned and scrutinised.

“is something bothering you?” he asks lightly, though in his heart, he _knows_. and judging from the stony expression on geralt’s face, his witcher _knows_ too.

“that song,” geralt utters, and fuck, jaskier isn’t ready, truly isn’t ready and, “settle, little lark. i scented your panic as you sang, heard how your voice quivered as you spoke of silver-coated bears and their glimmering, golden eyes.” ah, so he _did_ read between the lyrical lines - and yet the bard cannot discern how geralt feels about the conclusion he’s clearly arrived at, “i am not your first witcher, am i?”

and jaskier feels his lips quiver,

his gaze falls despondently to the coin purse,

and says, “no,” in a voice which is brittle and soft.

“it was vesemir, correct?” geralt asks, his tone knowing and carefully neutral.

and the secrets spill from his lips before he can swallow them back,

“yes. he saved me from some wicked assassins - oh, how young and infatuated i was. he… was the first person to show me kindness and patience. if it weren’t for him, i probably wouldn’t have had hounded you so. once i knew you were a witcher, i just simply… couldn’t leave you alone; i knew how _giving_ and _selfless_ witchers could be and i didn’t want to lose that again. i _tried_ to tell you,” jaskier explains, his gaze flicking up with clear sincerity shining in his eyes, “i did not mean to keep it hidden, as soon as you spoke his name, i _tried_ –”

“i’m realising that,” geralt states, his gaze flicking over jaskier’s form with hidden intent.

“don’t look at me like that,” the bard says, straightening up as a hot spark of irritation races up his spine, “what i had with him is _nothing_ compared to what we have! it was simply carnal in nature,” and he’s distantly amused by the disgust which twists geralt’s expression, the slight flinch and downturn of his lips, “i wasn’t in love with him and we parted after mere weeks together!”

and geralt closes his eyes,

looks ill as he sways in his seat,

and opens them with his face set and stony.

“you… slept with vesemir?” geralt asks, before he holds up a hand, quick and pleading, “wait, i do not need any more confirmation - please, spare me such sordid details.”

“it was hardly _sordid_ ,” jaskier mutters sullenly, for his time with vesemir had been drenched in beauty and encased with wonder. he adores his witcher, but he won’t let his memories be besmirched so callously.

he highly doubts geralt would allow him to speak so distastefully of _yennefer_ , so.

and then geralt silences him with a single look and jaskier feels the fight simmer within his gut. he sits back in his seat, purses his lips and awaits for the witcher to cast his judgement, to throw him aside and curse his name.

others have discarded him for less and he _had_ slept with geralt’s father…

but his darling merely muses in silence.

and it stretches,

and it’s tense,

and it leaves him feeling _nauseous_ ,

and jaskier simply refuses to allow a lack of speech to wound either of them further.

“what are you thinking?” he asks, leaning across the table with beseeching eyes, “please - i haven’t been unfaithful, it was far before we met and i–”

“i’m thinking about all the terrible deeds i have committed in life,” geralt interjects with a sigh, knocking back the last of his wine with a coy look in his eye, “i’m wondering if any could compare to patricide.”

a burst of shocked, disbelieving laughter erupts from the bard’s throat as he observes the half-serious expression on his witcher’s face.

“please, do not slaughter your father,” he begs, carefree joy lifting his spirit and words, “i highly doubt it would be a fight you’d win, regardless.”

“oh, such little faith you have in your witcher,” geralt sighs, his glinting eyes melting to soft embers - it leaves jaskier feeling _warm_ , his skin tingling as he burns under the intense gaze.

“my witcher?” he echoes, sweetly hopeful.

“indeed,” geralt agrees, before he suddenly breathes out a laugh and smiles. he leans forwards and holds out a hand - jaskier gasps with delight and reaches for it, threading their fingers together with keen affection, “ _if_ i ever allow you to accompany me to kaer morhen, i’m keeping you _leashed_.”

and the look in his stare steals all the breath in jaskier’s lungs.

his mouth falls agape, his heart quivering as interest prickles across his body and collects in his groin. oh, the thought of being tugged and pulled and yanked, toyed and played - at the mercy of his darling witcher. the images flitter through his mind and suddenly, vesemir is the last thing on his mind.

in hindsight, he’s probably fallen straight into geralt’s pretty, pretty trap.

“darling,” he sighs dreamily, tightening his grip as he leans further forwards, but geralt isn’t finished.

“i’ll keep you chained to my bed,” he continues with a promise, his thumb rubbing across jaskier’s knuckles, his voice lulling the bard into a hazy trance.

“geralt,” the bard utters, pitched and needy - his hips rolling on the chair as desire threatens to _drown_ him, submerging him to depths he fears he shan’t ever return from.

“i’ll keep you caged up,” geralt says, the fantasy taking over their dark corner, “cover you in my marks and leave you dripping in my scent.” his nostrils flare, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk - he can _smell_ jaskier’s arousal and it’s _amusing_ him.

and with that, jaskier has had enough - a tiny growl erupts from his throat and he’s launching himself across the table. forces himself into geralt’s space and perches on the witcher’s lap with his body quivering with ardent need.

“ _tease_ ,” he hisses through pursed lips, his fingers digging deeply into geralt’s shoulders when the witcher’s body trembles with laughter.

“i learned from the best,” geralt remarks, his hands curving around jaskier’s hips, molding around the bones perfectly, “i felt like you deserved a reminder as to which witcher you truly belonged to. vesemir and i may come from the same school, but we are _very_ different.”

“oh please, i tamed a bear,” jaskier purrs confidently, his eyes alight with titillation when geralt grumbles in response, “a wolf should be _no_ problem.”


End file.
